


i'm a high school lover (and you're my favorite flavor)

by akhikosanada



Series: Sylvix Week 2019 [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Fluff, Glenn is somehow ALIVE in this au, M/M, Sylvix Week 2019, Sylvixweek2019, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates), based on a r/relationships post, im sick so the angsty braincell took a break, with barely an underside of Felix Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 16:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21060041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akhikosanada/pseuds/akhikosanada
Summary: ""There's absolutely no way Sylvain likes me."His friends stare at him.Ingrid looks annoyed. Dimitri looks uncomfortable. Annette looks beside herself.“Felix,” Annette says, and he can see she’s trying very hard to suppress a bout of anger, with the way her face turns almost the color of her hair. “I love you like a brother, I truly do. But right now? I think I love you as much as Sylvain loves his actual brother.”“Who he hates,” Dimitri supplies helpfully.“Whom,” Ingrid corrects unhelpfully."Felix (19M) has a crush on his roommate (22M). He cannot figure out if he actually likes him back or if he's just being friendly.Written for Sylvix Week 2019 - Day 4: roommates au





	i'm a high school lover (and you're my favorite flavor)

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't supposed to write anything for day 4 but this au called to me.  
Do you guys remember the Disaster Lesbian Reddit Relationships Post? Well. i took it was like "hey what if this but sylvix........." and here we are.
> 
> This is literally my first attempt at humor EVER i don't know if i am remotely funny. In any case, i really hope you enjoy this!!  
Thanks to Ash for beta'ing the fic <3

**October 12th, 2019**

There’s a sticky note on the hallway mirror that just says “Good luck for today! You’re the best!!” in round, messy handwriting, and that’s when Felix realizes there are some things he should talk about with his roommate.

It’s so unfair, he thinks, for Sylvain to play his heart like this, like a drum he keeps hitting harder and harder until the sticks shatter and his nails bleed right onto him. It’s not as though they had ever been  _ friends _ to begin with; even in high school, Sylvain had been two years above him, and their only commonality had been sharing a few classes and hanging out with the same group of unlikely friends. Felix has spent years schooling himself -- training his gaze not to drift towards red hair and red-honey eyes, not to notice the too-bright fake smiles and the softer, more genuine ones, not to linger on toned arms and long legs and broad shoulders. Felix has never denied Sylvain was handsome, because no one truly could without being called either an idiot or a hypocrite; but somehow, he had thought he had been immune to Sylvain’s practiced charm and rehearsed pick-up lines, indifferent to the compliments and praise he carelessly let slip out, insensitive to the way the world seems to shift around him as though trying to fit his idea of ideal.

He had thought he had been all that, which was the exact reason why he had agreed to Sylvain’s offer to become roommates when Felix graduated high school. They would be going to the same college, after all, Sylvain had shrugged; and Sylvain was looking for any and all possible reason to get away from his family, so Felix was as good a reason as any, he imagined -- still imagines, because there’s absolutely no way Sylvain is anything but a very thoughtful friend that Felix feels incredibly bad using in this manner. 

He had thought he had been all that, until a year ago, when after another one of Sylvain’s too friendly, too considerate roommate-y attentions, he had gone to bed with his heart beating faster and a flush to his cheeks and his chest constricting into tight tangles of unbreathable air. 

There’s the snapshot of a memory flickering into Felix’s mind -- of their night out yesterday, of Ashe’s birthday and their joint present, of Sylvain’s eyes like rum-and-coke boring into his in the dark of the bar, so close-

Felix tears away the sticky note on his way out and crumples it into the pocket of his coat. There are some things they should talk about.

  
  


**June 3rd, 2018**

“You know what we should do?” Sylvain says suddenly as they’re trying to figure out how to plug their different PlayStation cables to the TV in front of their brand-new couch. Well -- as  _ Felix _ is trying to figure out how to plug their different PlayStation cables to the TV in front of their brand-new couch, on which Sylvain is currently flicking through his phone, a wrinkled flyer for a pizza joint in his other hand. They’ve barely moved in; Ingrid and Dimitri came to provide help in the shape of accurate stair-wise bed-moving directions and stupidly strong arms, and Sylvain’s college friend Dorothea had almost driven their moving van into a corn field on the way, but they’re practically settled now, or as settled as one could be with dozens of unopened Ikea boxes dotting their living-room. 

“Helping me try to get the most of the work done before we go to sleep?”

“This, too,” Sylvain yawns, “but also make ourselves an order list.”

Felix looks at him, nonplussed. “Priorities, Gautier. Also what the hell’s an order list?”

“You know,” Sylvain tries. Felix doesn’t know. “A list of orders.” Felix stares harder. “That we could make for each other if one of us needs to order food from somewhere when the other’s not here.”

_ Oh. _ That’s… actually not a bad idea, Felix thinks. He doesn’t know if he expected Sylvain to be this considerate right off the bat; they’ve never exactly been close, in high school, and Felix had thought Sylvain’s years in college had driven them further apart, what with all of the partying and blackouting he used to tell them all about when they saw each other in the commute, Felix going one way and Sylvain the other. 

“You know what I like to eat,” Felix still replies, focusing on undoing a boxful of video games.

“Meat, anything spicy enough to burn your tastebuds, and even more meat.” Sylvain’s voice is almost judgemental, and it’s refreshing, in a way -- that Sylvain feels like he can remove the social mask he wears like makeup when he’s in Felix’s presence, that he can be truer to himself, bad sides and all. Sylvain throws a wink at him, and Felix forgets all the good things he just thought about him as he wants to catch it and pulverize it into the blender he uses for his protein shakes. “But I don’t know your _ favorite _ orders.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Why would you even need to know that?”

“Because I want to make you happy.”

It’s said with such disgusting innocence, with such unfathomable sincerity, that Felix’s heart almost skips a beat.

Almost.

Felix rises from his crouch. “You know what would truly make me happy, Sylvain José Gautier?” He steals the flyer right out of Sylvain’s hand. “For you to actually help me unpack stuff before I shove this into your mouth.”

In the morning, he still leaves the flyer on one of the Ikea boxes that serves as their makeshift table, his favorite pizzas circled in deep, angry red.

  
  


**February 23rd, 2019**

Felix _ hates it _ when Glenn visits. 

It’s not that he dislikes Glenn; if anything, he loves his brother more than Sylvain hates his, which can prove surprisingly difficult to achieve, Sylvain’s hatred for his family being what it is. No, what he hates is Glenn acting as the perfect adult big brother, with his stupid suits and his stupid flowers and his stupid bottles of good wine, when Felix still remembers being barely five years younger and helping him hide from their father that Glenn had just come home from a night of underage drinking as he puked his guts out in their garden.

Then again, five years is a decent amount of time for people to change and grow, Felix supposes; it’s evidently a decent amount of time for having fathered a child that he now has to take care of.

Celeste is almost three years old now, and Felix is greeted with dark hair and blue eyes and a tight hug around his leg when the doorbell rings and he unlatches the lock.

“Uncle Fe,” she calls him, all smiles and cheer, her hair falling in gentle curls around her chubby face, and Felix doesn’t find it in himself to suppress his smile. “Happy birthday!”

“Hey, little star.” He lifts her into his arms, almost effortlessly, _ oh God she’s getting so big, _ and his niece winds her tiny arms around his neck as she nuzzles against him. “And you, I guess.”

Glenn knows him too well to take offense, and only pushes inside as though he’s been living here himself instead of just having come exactly once to drop off some stuff Felix had left in their former house. He’s still in his god-damned freshly-pressed suit, even though it’s a late Saturday morning; he only has the simple decency to show Felix a bag that smells like pastries and all things comforting. 

“You know I don’t like sweet stuff.”

“How could I have ever forgotten,” Glenn sighs dramatically, “the ever-so-complicated likes and dislikes of my nineteen-year-old  _ baby brother _ ?”

It’s not that he dislikes Glenn; Felix  _ hates _ Glenn, with the fire of a thousand suns.

“It’s only for Celeste and I. You remember how I take my coffee, don’t you?” His brother has the gall to look smug, haughty smirk and teasing ocean eyes.

“Sylvain,” Felix calls as they step in the open kitchen, “Glenn brought breakfast for you and only you. Feel free to inhale the whole bag right this instant.” He hears his roommate step into the living room a few seconds later, greeting Glenn as Felix slides a capsule in the coffee maker and presses a button; he thinks the loud, absolutely awful whirring that starts up startles Celeste a little, because she clings tighter to him as he gently lets her down on the counter.

“Hey babe,” Sylvain says to him as he stifles a yawn and opens the fridge, and Felix can feel Glenn’s stare on them from across the room. 

“He calls everyone that.” Sylvain does not call  _ anyone _ that, except for Felix, or at the very least, he hasn’t done so in Felix’s presence; then again, when Sylvain had asked him a few months if he could call him that,  _ because I call all my other friends like that, _ he had added after watching Felix’s eyes widen like the two saucers on which he places his and Glenn’s coffee cups, Felix had believed him and agreed. 

“Sure,” Glenn answers, obviously unsure.

Sometimes, Sylvain refers to him as  _ baby _ or _ sweetheart _ or  _ love, _ and God does that last one do many unfortunate, wonderful, unfortunately wonderful things to Felix’s heart and body, but Glenn doesn’t need to know that.

“Uncle Fe, who is this?” Celeste asks, her wide curious eyes staring holes into Sylvain’s overall location.

Felix turns around as Sylvain walks towards her, half-crouching in front of her place on the counter, keeping her at eye-level. 

“When will you learn to wear shirts?” He says to prevent his overheated brain from focusing on Sylvain’s naked chest, because no one should have the right to look  _ that _ good and be  _ that _ jacked with  _ that _ gentle and kind an attitude. It’s probably against the Geneva Conventions, or something. He should ask Ingrid -- she’s the law-and-poli sci major, not him.

“Hi, Celeste.” Sylvain’s voice is soft as silk and sweet as honey-in-milk as he extends a hand towards Celeste. “Uncle Felix told me a lot about you. My name is Sylvain.”

She tentatively shakes his hand with her tiny fingers, barely reaching around. 

“Hi, mister Sylvain,” she replies, voice clear as a bell. “Who are you?”

Sylvain breathes out, a laughing exhale, as he looks at Felix. “I’m your uncle’s  _ very special _ boy friend.”

Felix’s brain stops functioning. He thinks he can hear Glenn actually choking on his laughter from his faraway place on the couch, and Felix has the distinct idea of grabbing a kitchen knife and stabbing the both of them until they’re more honeycomb than human. 

He almost throws his coffee in Glenn’s face when he brings them all breakfast.

  
  


**September 20th, 2018**

It’s 7am on a Thursday morning, and Felix feels like absolute death when he rolls out of bed for his bi-weekly run.

Thursdays are one of the only days of the week when he has early classes -- he has learned that he now considers 9:30am early, and he probably should have listened to Sylvain, after all, when his roommate had advised him not to schedule any class before 11am, but Felix would not be Felix if he did not completely stubborn his way through his mistakes and hate himself for it, so he’ll admit this over his dead body. 

Which may be sooner rather than later, considering how he looks in the full-length mirror next to his bed. Felix has spent most of the night before helping Sylvain on one of his essays --  _ that’s the 3rd year life for you, Fe, _ he had said in a voice that sounded like he regretted all his life choices -- and it shows; it shows in creases of grey-blue like faded makeup underneath his eyes, it shows in his long, mussed-up hair sticking out in a few different places at once, it shows in the fact that he apparently grabbed one of Sylvain’s shirts instead of his own out of their shared, fresh laundry to wear to bed. The shirt is a little big on him, big enough that a hint of collarbone peaks from beneath the collar. It’s comfortable, in a way Felix’s clothes never truly are, because he likes to wear every shirt and pair of pants almost skin-tight. He yawns as he steps into the hallway to the living-room.

The lights are still on, surprisingly, although the sun is gently prying itself away from the dark sky through the window, and Sylvain is still on the couch, in the exact same sitting position Felix has last left him a few hours ago. He’s hunched in front of his computer, furiously typing away, his eyebrows drawn in a serious expression that looks so, so foreign on him. He’s like sunshine dressed like dusk, red hair redder in the computer light, dark eyes glazing caramel. He doesn’t look in the least as though he’s spent the whole night writing. 

_ He’s beautiful _ , Felix’s sleep-addled mind supplies, before he makes a bee-line to the drying rack where he’s picked Sylvain’s shirt last night and where his running clothes are currently hung.

He barely says hello to Sylvain, but his roommate stops typing all the same, and when Felix turns around, Sylvain just watches him.

His gaze travels from Felix’s face to the top of his hair, gliding along the locks, stopping just at the naked juncture between his neck and shoulder, down to his naked legs. 

“I-is something wrong?” Felix says, softened by sleep.

Sylvain just throws his head back on the couch, a frustrated sigh echoing around the room. “God, why do you look so beautiful without trying?”

Felix doesn’t have the time to ask him what he means by that; Sylvain just closes his laptop, gets up, and crashes into his room to sleep.

Felix still wakes him up when he’s about to leave for his commute, if only to silently thank him for the compliment.

  
  


**December 8th, 2018**

Felix had thought his first bad grade would hurt less than it truly does.

He’s been on top of his game for the whole first half of the semester, which is probably why it whiplashes him that badly. He had even had the best grade in his class on an essay that almost everyone else failed, that he thought he was going to fail, as well -- who even designs essay questions like “Do you think Elizabeth I was right not to ever get married?”?! -- but the failing grade on a test dissertation for his  _ Intro to Cinema Adaptation _ class was something he had not expected. 

_ let’s order indian tonight _ , he texts Sylvain when he steps into the University’s student gym, and only has time to see Sylvain’s reply, consisting only of smiling emojis with little hearts around them, before he loses himself in a full four hours of boxing.

It’s later and darker than he thought when he finally leaves after a quick shower and a change of clothes. He slides his headphones over his ears as he makes his way through the small park where the gym is located; he is usually one to take the bus home instead of the overground train, which is convenient but crowded and overall unpleasant, but tiredness overcomes him and he half-sprints down the stairs. He walks all the way to the end of the platform; he’s learnt to be efficient, and he now knows it’s the fastest way to reach the exit of his own station when he climbs down the train. The cold winter wind whips past his face, and he steps on, losing himself in the music.

The flat smells of spices and warmth as his key clicks in the lock and he opens the door; Sylvain is in the living-room, having already set some food out of bags and onto the coffee table in front of their couch. His laptop is open, and Felix hears laughter and music coming out of the speakers before he pauses the TV show he was watching. 

“Told you the order list was a good idea,” Sylvain simply says as Felix settles down next to him without a word, not even bothering removing his coat properly.

Sylvain, Felix has learned along the months, has the kind of emotional intelligence Felix has always wished he had but never managed to study nor perform, the kind that sees and hears and listens but doesn’t pry, doesn’t push. There’s comfort and familiarity as Sylvain pulls up a plate and serves him his favorite meal, waiting until Felix has started eating to spoon some palak paneer into his own mouth, because _ I’m trying to become a vegetarian, Felix, Hilda says it’s better for me, _ even though Hilda says exactly what Sylvain wants to hear so that he’ll leave her alone with free coffee on top. Felix wonders if Sylvain likes her; wonders if he wants to bring her home, to lock the door to his room and tell Felix not to come back until a certain hour, to spend mornings around unfinished cups of coffee and nights around takeout indian food. 

“I failed my first test.”

Sylvain says nothing; only looks at Felix, hazelnut gaze unsweetened, and opens his arms.

Felix falls into them as though he’s always been meant to, slots around and into him like a faded puzzle piece, his own arms clumsily weak around Sylvain’s waist as he buries his head into his neck. There’s a hint of cologne left on Sylvain’s clothes, something like saffron and spices rubbed onto leather along an undertow of bergamot and pink pepper, and Felix wants nothing more than to drown in the scent for the rest of his nights. Sylvain’s fingers graze into his hair, undoing the hair tie there and letting his still-wet hair pool down in flumes around his face and shoulders, parting them like water between his knuckles as he strokes his head in soothing half-moons. Felix’s arms tighten around him, his head lulling under Sylvain’s hand, and if Sylvain feels Felix’s lips brushing against his neck in not-quite a kiss, he doesn’t mention it. 

“You’ll tell me how much I owe you for the food,” Felix says, and he cannot see whether Sylvain shivers or laughs. 

“Not happening.”

“Sylvain-”

“Shhh,” Sylvain murmurs, and the sound curls like smoke inside his chest and down his stomach, hot and hazy. “Let me take care of you.”

Felix truly hopes Sylvain cannot feel his heart beating fast and breaking against his ribs.

He wakes up a few hours later to the fleeting feeling of fingers through his hair.

He’s laying on Sylvain’s lap, he realizes as he blinks the night awake and away, Sylvain’s hand tracing maps through the locks. His roommate is still watching his laptop, but his eyes shift to Felix as Felix turns his head around. 

“What time is it?”

“Almost midnight.”

Felix frowns. “You should have woken me up.”

Sylvain’s smile is the smallest, most genuine Felix has ever seen, and it burns a hole through his chest like a star. “You just looked so peaceful like this.”

  
  


**October 12th, 2019**

“Which is why he probably only sees me as a little brother, at most.”

His friends stare at him.

Ingrid looks annoyed. Dimitri looks uncomfortable. Annette looks beside herself.

“Felix,” Annette says, and he can see she’s trying very hard to suppress a bout of anger, with the way her face turns almost the color of her hair. “I love you like a brother, I truly do. But right now? I think I love you as much as Sylvain loves his actual brother.”

“Who he hates,” Dimitri supplies helpfully.

“Whom,” Ingrid corrects unhelpfully.

“There’s absolutely no way Sylvain likes me.” It’s obstinate and definite, because Felix knows he’s right, and is ready to put his life on the line to defend his opinions, except that would probably amount to him actually putting his life with Sylvain on the line, which is not something he’s certain he wants to do after all. It’s okay, he thinks; Felix is used to repressing his emotions until they form a single, dark ball of tangled yarn inside his guts, tethered so tight they can and will never be pulled out and laid on the ground in all their bloody glory. His love- his _ feelings _ for Sylvain are no exception. It would probably be remarkably easy, all things considered -- the mere sight of Sylvain flirting with someone on campus is enough to make his heart wither already. It won’t be long until it’s truly dead, and then Felix will be at peace.

Annette’s hands are curled around her drink, the sugary abomination she dares calling  _ coffee _ inside cooling by the minute, though Felix would bet she’d be able to warm it up back to searing hot with the sheer force of her rage. She stares at the yellow sticky note Felix has put on the table like it has personally insulted her entire family, her cats and her plushies included. “Felix,” she says again, like she’s summoning an ancient demon of greed and lust, “the  _ only _ reason Sylvain ever logs onto Facebook is to send memes that ‘remind-me-of-you-kissing-emoji’ on the group chat.”

“Yeah, because that’s what  _ friends _ do.”

“ _ Kissing emoji, _ ” Ingrid repeats, as though it proves anything.

“He made himself play that  _ Flame Crest _ game or whatever because he wanted to see what you liked so much about it.”

“Again, Annette, that’s not the name, but-”

“Last time I visited,” Dimitri says, looking him right in the eye, “there was a jar full of cash on the counter that said  _ Sylvain and Felix’s Funds for the FE Convention. _ ”

“So what?! Can’t two friends be into the same things?”

The chorus of sighs that leave their mouths sounds so tried-and-tested that Felix is mad for knowing it isn’t.

“We’re just trying to help, Felix.” Ingrid’s voice is encouraging, although she has that tone of voice that makes Felix feel as though he’s talking to either his mom or his therapist, and Ingrid is not responsible enough herself to be either of these things. “Has Sylvain bought you anything again, lately?”

Throughout the year, Sylvain had started buying Felix little gifts -- which literally amounted to anything Felix ever said he wanted even in passing, or showed him in a catalogue or in a shop window. Sylvain has more money than Felix, as well as a part-time job, but it still isn’t much; at first, Felix had insisted for him to stop, but Sylvain had replied with that teasing smirk and that dismissive tone of his.  _ I’m doing it because I want to make you happy, _ he had said to Felix at the time, in the same voice he had said these exact words when they had moved in together, and Felix had been too weak and too smitten to fight him on that ground -- instead, he had started doing the same to Sylvain in turn, relishing in the brilliance of Sylvain’s smile and the fondness in his eyes each time he thanked Felix for the sudden, unexpected gift. They were both kind of broke, now; Felix figures Sylvain’s happiness is worth it anyway.

“You’ll be glad to know that our buying stand-off is currently going on even.” It was either that or the rent, at this point, but none of them needed to know that.

“Oh my god, this is NOT A COMPETI-”

“Annette, your voice.”

“Oops, sorry Dimitri.”

His childhood friend sighs before taking a sip of his own drink, a simple cup of chamomile tea. “Felix, do you truly think Sylvain is doing this out of pure friendliness?”

“Of course I do,” he answers, too raw and combative, too revealing -- because a part of him wishes it isn’t, wishes Sylvain likes him in the same way Felix does, in hushed whispers and stolen glances and lingering hugs. “But Sylvain’s straight.”

“Um.” Dimitri is back to looking uncomfortable, the veneer of wisdom he has been wearing just seconds before falling apart at the edges. “You  _ do _ know bisexuality is a thi-”

“I am  _ not _ having this conversation with someone who’s just realized what Claude was implying by ‘You’re thicker than a bowl of oatmeal’.”

Dimitri’s mouth thankfully closes up over his words.

Ingrid’s eyes narrow. “Please tell me what’s straight about Sylvain walking hand in hand with you whenever you guys go outside.”

“It’s because he doesn’t want me to get lost like the first time it happened!” _ And because I’m a selfish asshole who doesn’t dare pull away, _ a voice deep inside him whispers.

Annette’s mouth is topped with a foamy mustache as she speaks. “Everytime you guys make plans to go somewhere, he says ‘So it’s a date!’.”

“And he doesn’t mean it literally.”

“I think-” 

“That’s new for you, boar-”

“Oh, shut up,” Dimitri says, and Felix is so surprised he actually does. “I think you’re being stubborn and stupid and oblivious on purpose, because you think you don’t deserve to be happy.”

It’s crazy, how Dimitri always manages to see right through him, which is probably the reason why he’s both Felix’s closest acquaintance and worst friend. They’re similar, Dimitri and him, two sides of the same coin dipped in a poison called self-hatred.

“So what? You think a single pep-talk from _ you, _ of all people, is going to solve years and years of self-esteem issues?”

“I never said that,” Dimitri only replies. “Just… Think about it, okay? About the times Sylvain has acted… in ambiguous ways with you.”

_ I’ll try, _ he thinks, but doesn’t say.

  
  


**December 8th, 2018**

“You don’t need to do this if you don’t want it, you know.”

Felix’s voice is cushioned into the soft skin of Sylvain’s neck, drowned-out in saffron and spices and leather. The shake of Sylvain’s shoulders, this time, is definitely laughter.

“I do want it, though.”

“Why?”

There’s a slight pause as Sylvain ponders his answer, before Felix feels his hands tighten in his hair and around his back, before he feels Sylvain’s nose pressing deeper against his collarbone, before he feels Sylvain’s chest expand against his as he breathes in.

“Because you smell good.”

The word  _ what _ leaves him, breathless and asphyxiating.

“You smell like home and all things nice.”

  
  


**May 15th, 2019**

Sylvain looks like hell warmed over when Felix comes back home.

He’s in a ball of limbs and blankets and used-up tissues, his hair a nest of sweaty curls that half-stick to his forehead, his eyes dark and red with fatigue and sickness. He’s shivering, Felix sees, trembling from head to toe under the covers. Felix immediately turns back out the door and in the direction of the nearest pharmacy, before he remembers that he has not actually  _ asked _ Sylvain what was wrong with him, and shoots him a quick text about what he needs to buy.

_ i need a hug :( _ is everything Sylvain says, so Felix resolves to buy half the pharmacy’s stock and orders takeaway noodles on the way back.

Sylvain has remained in the same Sylvain-shaped lump on the couch; the tremors that wracked his body seem to have subsided somewhat, though, and he visibly perks up when Felix drops the paper bag of food on the coffee table, frowning slightly when Felix doesn’t clear all the dirty tissues.

“No need to push them around and on the floor.”

“No way I’m cleaning up your mess, Gautier,” Felix says, but there’s no bite to it; Sylvain isn’t a clean freak, but it’s a near thing, and Felix has vowed never to let him enter his bedroom, not after the time they almost had a fight about carrots rotting away in Felix’s vegetable compartment in the fridge. Felix still maintains there was absolutely no need for Sylvain to clean it himself even though Felix probably wouldn’t have done so. 

It’s only as he’s about to dig into his own dish that Felix notices: Sylvain has not moved a muscle, looking at him with eyes glazed over in both amusement and feverishness.

“What are you waiting for?”

Sylvain’s smirk is almost predatory. “Aww, babe, aren’t you going to feed me?”

If Sylvain wasn’t so sick, Felix would probably have drop-kicked him out the flat and into the sun.

As it stands, though, Sylvain is sick and Felix is weak, so he reaches for the bag and pulls out Sylvain’s box before grabbing a spare fork.

“Wha- Felix, I was  _ joking _ ! Jo-king!” Felix thinks Sylvain’s fever has started up again, because he’s flushed all over, the redness washing over the freckles that have started to appear over his nose and cheeks along the late-spring sun.

“Oh, shush,” Felix says, glaring daggers as he inches closer. “Let me take care of you.”

That seems to have the intended effect -- Sylvain shuts up completely, and merely opens his mouth to eat the food Felix presents him with. His tongue shines red against the fork as Felix pulls it back. Felix averts his eyes to grab more food.

Sylvain eats a third of the box, and Felix brings him some water to take along the medication as Sylvain lies back on the couch.

“Mercedes said to take one of these pills,” he says as he pushes the small yellow box towards him, “as soon as you finished eating. Take a spoonful of cough syrup too.”

“Is it the sweet one?”

“It’s the sweet one.” It is not the sweet one. It’s the disgusting herbal one that Felix used to take when he was a child and burned his tastebuds with. Revenge is a dish best served under liquid form and tasting like grandma perfume.

Sylvain pulls a face when he pulls the spoon out of his mouth. “It’s not the sweet one.”

“It’s not.”

“You lied to me.”

“I did.”

Sylvain dramatically puts the back of his hand to his forehead. “You lied to a sick, dying man, Felix Hugo Fraldarius. I will be gone by the morrow. Have you got no shame?”

“Apparently, I don’t.”

“Kiss me goodnight?”

Felix almost does, in the heat of the moment -- almost bends to reach for Sylvain’s lips and claim what he’s wanted to claim for months, almost imagines threading fingers into red hair and pulling Sylvain apart right on their couch.

He gently throws another medication box to his forehead. It bounces uselessly to Sylvain’s chest as his roommate looks on, fakely offended and crestfallen.

He’s smirking as he takes a sip of water from Sylvain’s glass. “Mercedes told me suppositories work best for the body.”

Sylvain drops the façade. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He turns the box around between his fingers, and sure enough, pulls another childish frown, makes a disgusted noise. “Well, it’s not as if it’ll be the first thing that I put up my ass, but still.”

Felix chokes on his water. There’s the edge of tears in his eyes from coughing when his head whirls around to look at Sylvain; Sylvain looks on, evidently very entertained and smug. “Oh come on, Fe, don’t act all prudish. You’ve been gay for what, a few years?”

_ For most of my life since I met you _ , Felix thinks.

“I thought I told you guys that I  _ experimented _ in college?”

“We’re not having this conversation. Good night.”

“Felix,” Sylvain says, and there’s a sudden tiredness to his voice, like a curtain being drawn when night comes. He catches Felix’s hand as he’s standing, with all the gentleness illness allows, and his fingers are blazing fingerprints into Felix’s skin. “Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

Sylvain’s eyes are closed when Felix looks back at him, his long, long eyelashes red as the feeling superseding Felix’s blood in his veins and into his heart. Felix settles back down on the floor next to him, his face level with his, for once, not looking up or down, but right in front of him. There’s the edge of laughter rustling the blankets over Sylvain’s shape. He doesn’t let go of Felix’s hand.

“Thanks, my little nurse angel.”

Felix is about to yell at him, but his breathing evens out, little by little, and Felix curses himself for his selfishness as he threads his fingers in the gap between Sylvain’s own.

  
  


**February 14th, 2019**

_ you’re my valentine, _ is the text that greets Felix in the morning as he wakes up at 7am for his Thursday morning run; no question mark. 

Sylvain has apparently sent it while coming back home from Hilda’s birthday party at 2:35am, because only Hilda would actually throw a birthday party on a school night in the middle of the week, and only Sylvain would take it as an invitation to stay as long as possible in order to have an excuse to skip classes and spend his day on dates. Sylvain was also probably, no, definitely very drunk, and Felix has half the mind for payback. 

_ okay, i am _ , he only replies, puts on his running clothes and his hair in a loose bun, and walks out of his room only to see something on the open kitchen counter.

There’s a cat plushie, wrapped with a small, royal blue ribbon, that definitely was not there last night when he went to sleep. Sylvain’s round, messy handwriting is even rounder and messier on the sticky note just beside it.  _ sorry i can’t offer you a real cat :( _ , the note says,  _ maybe next year? _

Felix intensely regrets having already sent the message when he steps out the door and starts running way faster than his normal pace, and is blessedly relieved when he comes back and Sylvain still hasn’t woken up. He carefully swaps the cat plushie for a box of chocolates that cost him way too much when he leaves for his classes, the plush tucked inside his bag.

“What’s that?” Ashe asks, green eyes made greener with curiosity and interest as he spots Sylvain’s gift inside Felix’s bag. They’re packing up after their English literature class, the one Ashe has insisted he take with Felix this semester if only to bother him with way-too-pertinent knowledge about medieval tales and historic customs. Felix likes Ashe a lot; he’s one of the only people not to have been immediately deterred by Felix’s brutal straightforwardness and rude combativity. 

Felix tries his best to hide his blush when he answers. “A gift. From Sylvain.”

Ashe levels him with a knowing gaze. “Ooh, are you two together yet?”

“What do you mean, yet?” Felix rolls his eyes. “And no. He probably got it for me as a joke, or something.”

“Or something,” Ashe echoes in canon, unimpressed. He looks over Felix’s shoulder. “Clearly it’s also why he’s waiting for you outside the classroom.”

Felix almost trips as he whirls around and glares at Sylvain, who only answers with a bright grin and a friendly wave. 

“Thanks for the chocolates, love,” Sylvain greets as they meet him halfway, and Felix is certain the noise coming out of Ashe’s mouth is either a guffaw or a dying whale cry. “Hey, Ashe! Long time no see, how have you been?”

“Oh, you know,” Ashe answers as he waves a hand around. Neither Felix nor Sylvain know. He doesn’t elaborate. “Oh, Felix, I forgot to tell you -- I have something for you!”

Felix turns his back to Sylvain as he faces Ashe, who produces a small package out of his bag before handing him something resembling candy.

“For you!” Ashe grins. “ _ Valentine’s _ chocolate. Coffee-flavored, because I know you don’t like sweets.” Oddly, Ashe barely looks at him as he explains, his eyes trained on Sylvain instead, but Felix smiles and thanks him all the same as he turns the chocolate around.

“Thank you, Ashe. I’ll be sure to enjoy-”

Sylvain grabs his wrist and eats the chocolate right off his fingers. 

Felix barely has the time to be surprised before the overwhelming sensation of Sylvain’s lips on his fingers overrules each and every other feeling and thought. It’s short, and fleeting, and so, so warm that Felix feels as though his soul is separating from his body. His heart probably has stopped. Ah, Felix thinks, this is how it feels to die: it feels like Sylvain’s tongue, wet and pink, pressing against his fingertips and licking the chocolate clean, it feels like the hint of teeth brushing against his knuckle in the tenderest of wounds, it feels like the half-kiss Sylvain ends up pressing against the tip of his nail as he lets go. 

It feels like Sylvain’s eyes, half-lidded and hazy, boring into his all the while. 

Sylvain looks at Ashe again. Felix doesn’t find the strength to do it too. “Hey Ashe,” he says, and there’s something dark in his voice, “don’t go and steal my valentine, now.”

Felix slaps Sylvain’s hand off his wrist and stomps away without a word.

It’s raining outside when Sylvain knocks at his bedroom door.

“Fe, are you there?”

Felix doesn’t answer, which clearly means “come right in” in Gautierish, since the door swings open either way. Sylvain’s hair is dripping at the tips as Felix looks back at him from his bed, curling away from his face in pretty new moons. Felix grabs a towel that’s haphazardly laying next to his bed and sends in towards Sylvain’s face, who deftly catches it, except the towel lamely flutters to the ground before he can even reach for it and Sylvain finds himself crouching to pick it up anyway. It's a testament to his seeking Felix’s forgiveness that he doesn’t mention the state of the room. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Felix doesn’t answer.

“I shouldn’t have done that. It was inappropriate.”

Felix doesn’t answer.

He hears more than he feels the stirring of sheets as Sylvain’s body whispers across the bed beside him. He decidedly does not look at Sylvain, keeps his gaze right on the plushie in his hands.

“Do you like it?”

Felix likes it very, very much. 

“It reminded me of you. All dark and broody and golden-eyed.”

“My eyes aren’t gold, you idiot.”

Sylvain smiles at that, at Felix looking at him again. “Sometimes they are. You just don’t notice.” Sylvain reaches out, brushes a strand of Felix’s hair behind his ear, his tiny smile fading into nothingness. Felix wonders if he’s going to kiss him properly, if he’s going to lean forward and finally, finally pull him all apart as he’ll close that unbearable distance. 

“Come on,” he says instead, rising back up. “Takeout, then you forgive me?”

Felix has already forgiven him twenty times over. “We’ll see, Gautier,” he answers as Sylvain pulls him from his bed by the hand.

  
  


**July 15th, 2019**

Felix dislikes the heat of summer. His eyes follow the flies buzzing around the living room in absentminded amber, molten by sunlight, sometimes drawn towards the matching hues of the flowers that Annette had brought with her the last time she visited. The summer scent of sweat and flesh and blood almost doesn’t disturb him -- the picture Sylvain just sent him is distraction enough, half-lying on the sofa of his summer home, skin melting away against the burn of fake leather. 

_ i miss the way you feel and smell _ , he has captioned, and although Felix is pretty sure Sylvain hadn’t meant to send this text to him, Felix lets himself dream.

Felix dislikes the heat of summer. It makes it hard to keep Sylvain close. 

  
  


**October 11th, 2019**

Ashe’s birthday party takes place in a bar so crowded that Felix has removed his Traditional Autumn Hoodie and is left in a simple, sleeveless turtleneck top. He doesn’t know how many beers he had, but he knows how to pace himself; as he’s learned in a year, that is clearly not Sylvain’s case.

They’re all in the basement part of the bar, past a wrought-iron staircase, where the raw bricks walls sweat with alcohol and sweat and flashing neon lights; a DJ is alternating between good 80s classic hits and obscure 90s French Touch house, everything to keep people dancing and sweating and drinking and pause-repeat. Some assholes are vaping in a corner, and Felix is two seconds away from walking up and breaking the vapes against their sorry skulls when Sylvain catches him by the hand and drags him back for a dance. 

Ashe’s birthday party takes place in a bar so crowded that he has to press close, intimately close to Sylvain as they dance. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Felix closes his eyes as he feels Sylvain’s gentle hands pulling him flush against him by the hips, and his arms immediately slide behind broad shoulders, his fingers accidentally teasing the red hair at the nape of Sylvain’s neck. He feels Sylvain shiver against him as he moves, his head lulling from side to side as the bass drums through his bones, Sylvain trailing fire against his ribs as he grazes his fingertips up and down Felix’s sides. Sylvain grinds against him, slow and sensuous, and Felix’s head falls back on a gasp, his nails gripping Sylvain’s shirt so hard he fears it might tear. He feels more than he hears Sylvain’s huff of laughter against his neck, blessedly cool against his heated skin, their bodies swaying against each other in the middle of the room. When Felix opens his eyes, Sylvain’s gaze is wolfish. 

Sylvain smells like saffron and leather and alcohol as he whispers. “You look like you really want to kiss me right now.”

Felix freezes -- as frozen as feels possible when Sylvain holds him close and grinds against him and looks at him this way, which ultimately means Felix is boiling hot. 

“I won’t mind,” Sylvain says, all rum-and-coke and unsweetened coffee and honey-gold, and Felix rises to taste the flavors right from the source.

A wave of cold washes over him before he manages to reach it, and he realizes a guy drunker than they are has spilled his beer all over him.

The guy’s eyes wider as Felix turns to him. “Fuck, dude, I’m so sorry-”

Felix punches him in the face.

He gets banned from the bar.

  
  


**October 12, 2019**

The sun shines low in the autumn sky as he comes back home, his mind swirling with thoughts and memories.

He slides the key in the lock and opens the door to their flat, 4th floor, no lift. 

“I just finished washing the dishes,” Sylvain greets as Felix steps in. He smiles, radiant, a low-glowing star burning a hole into his heart, eyes like pastries and home and everything nice. He’s shirtless, again, wiping his hand on a clean rag, and Felix drops his bag to the floor.

_ I think you’re being stubborn and stupid and oblivious on purpose, _ Dimitri repeats inside his head,  _ because you think you don’t deserve to be happy. _

_ I won’t mind,  _ Sylvain says again, on the edge of memory.

“What, aren’t you gonna say-”

Felix curls his fingers in the red hair at the nape of his neck and pulls him down to press a single kiss to his lips.

He makes to step away a mere second later, but Sylvain keeps him flush against him, fingers tangling in the dark of his hair and pulling the hair tie off, before he draws Felix in for another kiss.

It’s like a freefall, a dam breaking; Felix’s eyes slide close as his lips reach for Sylvain’s, urgent with the weight of too many things unsaid and unshown, his hands tightening inside Sylvain’s hair like he’s the only thing anchoring him to the edge of the precipice. Sylvain lures him ever closer, a hand sliding down his back and grazing the sliver of skin below his shirt, his teeth the gentlest of bites at Felix’s lower lip, and Felix exhales every feeling he has against Sylvain’s tongue, curls them into Sylvain’s mouth like cigarette smoke until his breath is exhausted. 

Sylvain chases his lips when they break apart from air, pushing him against the kitchen counter, singeing love in the shape of his mouth against Felix’s throat, bringing them back together for more open-mouthed kisses once he’s satisfied with his work. Both his hands caress down Felix’s ribs, grasp a handful of his ass as Felix presses himself against him, and Sylvain sighs against Felix’s tongue when he lifts him up to let him sit on the kitchen counter. Felix’s legs lazily cross behind Sylvain, pulling him against him as they look at each other.

“Hello,” Felix says.

“Hi,” Sylvain answers.

“I’m pretty stupid, aren’t I.”

“No you’re not,” Sylvain laughs in a tone that clearly means  _ yes you are.  _

“All that time, you were flirting with me.”

“Clearly I must have been too subtle,  _ love. _ ”

Felix grinds against him at the pet name, and Sylvain gasps as he reaches to kiss him again.

“Wait,” Felix says, a gentle hand over Sylvain’s lips. “I… I’ve just wanted you for a long time, but…” Felix’s frustrated brain doesn’t follow through as Sylvain catches his fingers in his hand and kisses them, one by one, staring right into Felix’s eyes all the while. “Maybe you want to… I don’t know, date? Before…. That?”

That makes Sylvain snort, loud and ungracious. “Fe. We go out to eat every other night. We eat breakfast together every morning. We go to the movies once a month. We babysat Celeste together like, what, two weeks ago? I think we’re way past the dating point of this relationship.”

_ Oh, _ Felix thinks, dumbly.

“Oh,” Felix says, dumbly. 

“Felix,” Sylvain says, soft and fond, “can we please go back to the kissing now? I have, like, a whole  _ year _ to make up for-”

Felix makes him shut up the best way he knows how.

**Author's Note:**

> me, a morosexual: [tears up clothes] felix fraldarius you're so FUCKING STUPID
> 
> Tomorrow is supposed to be Mafia AU but im sick so it might be delayed :(((( im gonna do my best still!! <3  
Thank you so much for having read, and please leave a comment if you enjoyed the fic!!


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